


Fickle Things

by badjujuboo (miztrezboo)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-05
Updated: 2012-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-29 00:44:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/313969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miztrezboo/pseuds/badjujuboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hearts are fickle things and not to be given lightly; such things Scorpius learns as he gives and loses and finds again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fickle Things

**Author's Note:**

> written for prompt 69 in the [Nextgen_mas](http://www.nextgen_mas.livejournal.com) fest - Wham! Last Christmas. Usual **Disclaimer** that I own nothing but the bits of plot that make a story, recognizables are certainly not mine. Big thanks to those who made kicking this into shape WORK!

  
**Fickle Things**   


It was probably creepy. Not "probably" – _was_ – was more like it.

Yet there was nothing Scorpius wanted to do more than watch his lover sleep.

Lover. That was a fresh word to add to his vocabulary. The ever-growing list of who they were to each other, had all changed yet again last night. Scorpius shifted; just moving his leg set new fire burning in muscles he never even _knew_ he had. The burn was sweet, though, a reminder of what had changed between them only hours ago. He watched his lover's eyelashes flutter, sooty black on paper-thin skin, and he resisted the urge to run his fingertips across them. He knew they were soft, had felt them brush across the apple of his cheek, on the smoothness of his chest, and that one strange moment on his left hipbone that had caused him to giggle and snort. Instead, he snuggled further down into the cocoon of blankets and warmth created by their earlier lovemaking. Scorpius sank back into the embrace of the man whose head had rested on his chest and had now shifted so he was almost nuzzling against the multitude of bruises Scorpius was sure to have on his neck.

Scorpius' grip tightened as he listened to his lover's contented sigh, a strong arm heavy on his chest, squeezing almost protectively. It was enough – _meant_ enough to Scorpius that his heart felt filled to bursting.

"I love you," he whispered, the words loud in the quiet of late night or far too early morn – whatever it was now, so long after dinner and longer still after he'd stumbled into this room with this man as drunk as he had been.

There was a murmured reply, too close to Scorpius' neck to decipher, but as he sank into sleep with a smile on his face he liked to believe it was the man echoing the words back.

He was in love with this man, and tomorrow he'd tell each and every person he cared for all about it.

. . .

But tomorrow never came.

Well – it did, but not in the way Scorpius had hoped it would.

He woke to an empty bed, which hurt, but he pushed away the twinge in his chest at finding the sheets cold beside him in favour of finding his bedmate up and about and the possibility of coaxing him back into the space he'd just vacated. Scorpius finally got up, the urge to visit the loo and perhaps rid his mouth of morning breath too strong as the minutes in bed spent waiting on his lover's return moved from the few to the embarrassing "gods, lying here sniffing the scent from his pillow could be better spent nuzzling the source himself." He made quick work of relieving himself, splashed some water on his face, and spent a few good minutes observing the purple marks on his neck, the fingerprints on his hips, and a couple of rather good bite marks on his shoulder and collarbones. His lips were red and puffy, and honestly, he looked thoroughly shagged. Which was good in reality, because he positively _had_ been the night before. Finally, after a year of flirtation, clandestine dates, and even more secretive handholding or quick snogs in dark spaces at work or family-related functions, it had all finally come to fruition. Scorpius couldn't have been happier, even if his arse did ache in the best of ways. He showered, forwent a shave knowing that his partner – in more ways than just Ministry-appointed – quite liked the roguish look a little stubble gave Scorpius' countenance, dressed, and headed downstairs.

He had figured to find his love in the kitchen; it was the central family hub of a family he wasn't related to but felt as if he were, more than the ones he had grown up with. He had also figured to find his love eating his weight in bacon sandwiches (which were a staple in their working relationship for Scorpius to grab on his way in to work every morning). He had also figured that a few of the _many_ family members still staying over the holiday period would be around, especially the matriarch who kept the oddly shaped house running as if it were a military assignment and not a family home.

What Scorpius hadn't counted on was the _whole_ family – and extended additions – to be crowded into the one room. He picked up on their good cheer as his feet landed on a still chilled wooden floor (obviously the day's heating charms hadn't been remembered as yet). He smiled as he turned into the arched doorway that led into a room he could hear was full of happiness and mirth. Scorpius had not made it two feet inside the door when he was handed a glass of what smelled like a decent drop of elf-made wine and found himself being patted on the back, urged through the throng of red-headed adults and the odd brunette.

"Finally awake, are you?" Albus pulled him to the side, forcing a bacon butty into his hand and taking the glass of bubbly from the other. Scorpius grinned easily; he and Albus had been friends since the moment they'd met on the Hogwarts Express, and it was under that same guise of friendship that Scorpius was here, at the Weasley family home with all the many, _many_ relations this Christmas. Darling Albus, who knew all about how Scorpius had his breakfast and the way he took his tea and who had magical hands for massage after particularly rough games of Quidditch. Who now, four years out of school and trying to find themselves in the real world, had no real idea of why Scorpius was so keen on spending the holidays away from his own family.

When really all Scorpius had been interested in was Albus' near-adopted older brother, over anything else. Molly Weasley's cooking wasn't _that_ good. Mother always had Christmas catered by the same award-winning chef Grandmere Cissy had used throughout all of Scorpius' father's childhood. Scorpius had to admit he had missed the sweet smell of crepes when he woke this morning, but he was a firm believer in the power of bacon and its ability to make everything good.

"So what's going on?" Scorpius asked, shifting to Albus' side against the bench and knocking over a pot with his elbow as he did so. The room was full of noise and smiling faces, and there was so much talk going on at once he had to really lean in to Albus to be able to make out what his friend was saying.

"It's Teddy."

Scorpius grinned. Finally, _finally_ , after a year spent in the shadows of Teddy's life he was going to be able to admit who he loved, because Teddy had grown the balls to be honest about himself.

"What about him?" Scorpius prompted when the seconds that passed between Albus' first sentence and whatever came next appeared to be lost in the man's near-inhalation of his own bacon sarnie.

Albus nodded toward the corner where Scorpius could just make out a head of white-blondsimilar to his own and the electric blue he'd come to know and love of an intensely happy Teddy. Victoire had arrived then, her Portkey having been delayed the night before due to heavy storms or some such magical brouhaha from where the young woman had been working for the German equivalent of Gringotts.

"Teddy," Albus started, wiping at his mouth with the back of one hand and smearing grease and what looked like a fair helping of HP sauce along with it across his cheek. "Teddy's only gone and made himself a more permanent part of the family."

The bacon turned in Scorpius' stomach. His skin felt as if it were freezing, drying out, and squeezing so tight on his body that it blocked his breath and forced his heart to stop beating.

"He and Victoire are engaged. It's a bit out of left field for me, but the rest of the family seems pretty happy. It got quiet for a moment when they blurted it out, but Gran just started blubbering and that was it for the female contingent then, they were all . . . ."

Albus' voice trailed off as the slow beat of Scorpius' heart took over all other sound.

Engaged. Teddy.

 _His_ Teddy.

His Teddy, who'd finally fucked him the night before. His Teddy, whose sinful tongue could have Scorpius coming so hard it was near violent purely from its touch on his arse alone. Teddy , whose mouth was made for cock-sucking. Teddy, who held him and would tell him he was beautiful while mapping every line, curve, and dip of Scorpius' body each and every Saturday morning for as far long as Scorpius could remember once he'd finished Auror training and moved into his own flat just outside of London. Teddy who he worked with. Teddy who he laughed with. Teddy who he loved.

Who he'd thought loved him.

Scorpius rushed from the room, vaguely noting the worried tone in Albus' voice as he called after him. He made it to the loo – just – and out came the little bacon he'd managed to swallow.

Teddy. His Teddy.

His Teddy no longer.

It wasn't hard to blame his sickness on too much alcohol from the night before (Teddy liked it when Scorpius was drunk, told him it was nice to see the usually so-in-control Malfoy all askew and imperfect). It also wasn't hard to beg out of any further "celebrations", because honestly he had to see his own family at some point. Though Scorpius hadn't made any plans to do so at all, so sure he'd be with Teddy all weekend and the next week they both had taken off.

It had been far too easy to grab his things from upstairs, quickly make his way out the front door, and within a few crunched steps over new snow, Apparate directly to his home.

It was there, when he was alone once more, that Scorpius gave into the numbness, and he didn't care if he came back out at all.

...

Some days were harder than others.

There were the days – weeks, even – when he'd go without a thought of _him_. Those were good, great. Work was monotonus. The same day in day out that had existed before, if not a little more disheartening now without a partner and Harry (as Head Auror) being so snowed under himself, not making it a priority to find Scorpius a replacement (could anyone even come _close_?) Not that Scorpius ever had a chance to enjoy any of those almost happy moments, realising how long it had been only when something _did_ shove its way into his face with flashing lights and loud noises that screamed two words.

Teddy Lupin.

It could be the curve of another's ear, the way someone wore a scarf, the roll of a man's foot as he stepped in front of Scorpius. Stupid things, like that one time he was in Eeylops and had to run out, letter unsent, purely because some git in front of him had said "snow."

Fucking _snow._

He hadn't left his room, let alone his flat, for three weeks after that. It would have been longer, but Albus had this uncanny way of knowing when Scorpius was in a "mood" and turned up with a six pack of lager, a takeaway box of curry for each of them, and several of those "blood and guts" _deeveedee_ things he was always making Scorpius watch. Albus even went as far as buying Scorpius his own player and _telly set_ to watch them on.

Scorpius would never, ever let on how much he actually enjoyed them. Or maybe it was the company.

It just wasn't fair. Why was it that the one who was left behind, who had every right to anger and frustration? Why was he the one who lived in a heartache that left him so sore, so empty, it felt like it would never end? Why did Teddy get to carrt on with his life, who was had probably forgotten all about that awkward Boxing Day morning where, without a single word, he'd shattered everything Scorpius had thought lay in front of him? All Scorpius' hopes and dreams, as corny as it sounded, were gone, burned up in the flames of a love lost and a partnership squandered.

He hated how much his life sounded like a melodrama (perhaps even looked like one, once Albus had finally worked his way through all the wards Scorpius had thrown on his flat a week after "the incident.") Albus was his best friend; they'd been that way since they met ( both being sorted into Slytherin had cemented the fact.) It was hard talking about this, though, seeing as it was the biggest secret he'd ever kept from Al. And it was even harder once Al knew and refused to say a single thing on the subject. Albus was the chattiest bastard he knew, but if Scorpius even _looked_ like he was thinking about asking for information on his god brother, Albus' lips sealed tighter than the windows in Slytherin's common room that looked out into the lake. The subject would remarkably be changed, lighter matters than ones of the heart were brought to the fore.

It irritated Scorpius at first, but then one day he realised he didn't need to ask any more. The pain was still there – would it ever go completely? A first love's ache never truly dissipated, did it? – but he realised he didn't care any more. He wasn't looking for tiny pieces of Teddy everywhere he went. He didn't hear that voice, the laughter, see the hazel eyes, or depending on mood, colourful hair, wherever he went. As it neared nine months without hearing a word about or from the man who had been not only been a partner at work, who was supposed to be his partner for the _rest_ of Scorpius' life, he realised he'd moved on. It probably helped matters that when he and Teddy had had that week off after Christmas, Teddy had actually been setting himself up with Victoire in Germany. So not only had Scorpius lost his love, he'd lost his partner, too.

Honestly, Scorpius was fabulous at his job – even better when they'd assigned him with Teddy back when he was green and straight out of Auror training school – and it was a credit to what he had learned during his time with Teddy that _without_ him, Scorpius could carry on as normal. Well, as normal as anyone who no longer had a heart could be.

When Joseph from one of the Departments of paper-pushers asked him back to the pub for drinks one Friday afternoon, he didn't hesitate as he had done for months. As they sat at a little corner booth and Joseph brought him a round, and then another, Scorpius found himself laughing at anecdotes shared about both their co-workers. When the barman made the last call, Scorpius found Joseph half sitting in his lap, fingers toying with the soft brown curls at Scorpius' nape. As they both stood – leaned on each other – at the Floo, Scorpius couldn't find it within himself to pull away when Joseph twined their fingers together.

He did stop at going through to Joseph's flat with him, however.

If he did happen to find a bottle of scotch Albus had left the last time he'd been over, and if Scorpius did manage to finish off the last three-quarters of it because of what he found when he shut the refrigerator door, it wasn't because he was remembering the last time his fingers had been entwined with another's like that. A memory of push and pull and Scorpius' fingers squeezing so tight as he felt the first sweet burn of being entered by something other than his fingers or a toy he'd bought at one of those Muggle sex stores he and Al had visited when they'd left school. To think his first was possibly his _last_ time ever having sex. A morose thought, at that, but it went with the sour feeling in his stomach at seeing the silver and blue invite he'd tacked onto the refrigerator door with a ridiculously gaudy magnet Albus had bought him when they'd gone on a Muggle "road trip" to Stonehenge in their gap year.

A Christmas party. A Christmas party not only held by his best friend's family, but a Christmas party that meant it was officially a year since he'd seenTeddy. A year since his heart had been wrenched in two.

"Oi, Scorpius, you around?"

Scorpius nodded from his place on the floor and then realised the voice coming from the direction of his Floo couldn't see that.

"Yeah," he answered after clearing his throat a few times. "In the kitchen."

"Can you come here, then?"

Scorpius looked up from where had now finished at least half of the contents of the bottle, towards the archway that led into the living room. Getting up and going anywhere seemed improbable in his current state, and he told Albus so. He heard a whine and then the sound of ash on his wooden floors before the familiar trudging of boots, dragging heavily on the right step because Albus was too lazy to completely lift his feet when walking.

"You're a lazy sod, you know, making a man bloody pop over purely because you can't be arsed to – oh." Albus broke off with a sigh once he came into Scorpius' line of sight, where his friend had now slumped even further down against the cupboard doors and was more lying on the floor than against anything at all.

Al said nothing further, just sat down beside Scorpius and sighed. "What brought all this on, then?" Scorpius answered by gesturing toward the invite with the bottle that was still firmly clasped in his hand.

"Oh, right. Right." Albus took the bottle from him with a little more tugging than probably was needed (Scorpius wasn't exactly clear whether, if he let go, Al would give the bottle back). Al rolled his eyes and informed him he would, and then managed quite a few gulps of the burning liquid before returning it to Scorpius' hands.

They sat there quietly passing the bottle between them, Scorpius drinking less and Al drinking more, as if to catch up to the state Scorpius had already gotten himself into. It was just as Scorpius was snuggling into Albus' side and Al had the bottle upturned with his tongue inside, attempting to pull the last few drops from its rim, that Scorpius voiced what he'd been thinking about for the past ten minutes (which could have been an hour; he had no sense of time whatever when he was drunk).

"You never – you never asked, you know," he stated, his voice quieter and filled with much more emotion than it had been in his mind when he'd thought the words before saying them.

He watched Albus' tongue still from its thorough cavity search of the bottle, the empty glass clattering loudly as he dropped it on the floor beside him. Scorpius attempted to look up further, thinking he should probably look into Al's eyes for this, but found he could only focus on his mate's lips instead. Rosy and red and a little battered on the sides from being chewed. Must have been a rough day at work; Scorpius knew Al only ate away at his lips when something was bothering him.

"I didn't think you wanted me to."

Scorpius swallowed hard, the lump that never seemed to truly leave his throat having built itself up once more with all the wallowing he'd allowed himself to do after he'd opened that bloody envelope. "I didn't. I did." He scratched at his stomach, shifting his hand under the warm wool of his vest and the cotton of his shirt. "I don't know."

Albus' tongue swiped quickly over his lips. "We could, if you –"

Scorpius said nothing. He wasn't sure if rehashing the past was really a good idea this far into his future. Albus slid down further after Scorpius' hesitation, so now all Scorpius could see was the concern in his friend's eyes. Darkest of dark green they were now, so familiar and so caring, and if only – if only things were different.

Scorpius must have been staring too long, or had been far too quiet or something, because the next thing he knew, he was being kissed.

And not just kissed. The moment of hesitation where lips met lips was momentary before Scorpius pressed back. It didn't take much after that for Albus' tongue to swipe across Scorpius' bottom lip, his hand coming up to cradle Scorpius' cheek as Scorpius turned in, finding that perfect position for snogging. Because that's what it had become – without words said, without looks of assessment, without a word of worry about what it could do to their friendship, the two were downright snogging the life out of each other. Their kisses turned wet and messy, breaths hitched and hands finally remembered they could do more than just lie limply at the boys' sides. Before Scorpius could even gather his wits and think about what he and they were doing, he was on the floor – well, rather on _Albus_ , as it were. His body was now half-covering that of his friend, their legs entangled at just the right angle for that perfect push and pull, and for a second he was surprised at how hard he was and that Albus – if the evidence at his hip was anything to go by – was exactly the same, if not more so.

Albus felt so good and everything he _did_ felt perfect. As if he knew exactly where and how Scorpius wanted to be touched. The cool of his fingertips as they dragged through Scorpius' hair contrasted with the heat of similar pads as they pressed into the curve of his hip. The way each moan, each whispered _yes_ from Albus pulled at something in Scorpius' chest as he answered each sound with an echo of his own. Albus' eyes, blown wide and dark with lust or something, bored into Scorpius' own whenever they met. As each slide and arch of entwined body parts sped up, Albus' hands cupped Scorpius' cheeks, forcing him to watch the roil of emotions over his best friend's face. Every flutter of ebony lashes, the droplet of sweat sliding down his forehead and into the damp curls that had formed just beside his ears. Gods, Albus looked amazing and it was this, them, that had made him look like that, like he was swept up in something that could possibly be incredible. And Scorpius found he felt the same.

He blinked, his eyes shutting as the warmth that had started off as something small pooling in his belly had turned to a fire in his limbs, working its way through his body until every nerve ending felt as if it were alight. It was a fast burn that he couldn't control, and at this stage didn't want to; there were no consequences when you were on the precipice. No questions as to why and how this could change _everything_. Only Albus as he moved against him, Albus as his body met Scorpius' with every shift and change, and only Albus as he called Scorpius' name, begging, pleading, and then _demanding_ that Scorpius keep his eyes open.

"Look, please . . . please, Scorpius, just look at us – at me."

And who was Scorpius to deny him?

"I-I-I lo – _Scorpius."_

And with that it was over. He came, breathless, mouth open as Albus rode out his own orgasm underneath him. His lips met Albus' with the slightest of touches as he regained his breath and then he somehow found himself on his side, arms wrapped around Albus and Albus' arms wrapped around him.

There were no further thoughts until morning. But then it was too easy to blame it on the drink. Too easy to blame it on being maudlin and a case of "right place, right time," because the moment Scorpius opened his eyes he could see it was _more_ for his friend. Without a word, as it had been all of their lives, he could see all the things Albus wanted to say. All the things Scorpius couldn't handle, and Albus knew that and kept all the things hidden.

A one day. A someday.

And even Scorpius knew, with a shocking clarity that only a drunken fumble that spoke more of what each could never have said in the year that had been can bring, hew knew there was _something_ between them that had clicked into place from the efforts of the night before.

A something that could become what Scorpius could see Albus wanted.

"How long?" he whispered as his fingertips toyed with the truly abominable mess that Albus's hair was.

Albus took a breath, and then another, his hand sliding up and under the skewed material that covered Scorpius' skin, rubbing lightly over the downy trail of hair there. "A while."

Scorpius said nothing but tugged a little on a stray curl at the nape of Albus'neck.

"A long while."

Still silence.

"God, you're a bastard!" Albus muttered. "Fine – since that Herbology field trip Uncle Nev took us on in third year."

Scorpius' hand stilled as he remembered. "There was nothing special about that trip. I fell in the fjord and you didn't bother sticking around to help me out, but nothing –" Scorpius paused as he realized the _reason_ Albus had turned tail and run red-faced had been nothing to do with escaping the week of detention Scorpius had ended up with because he'd clearly gone off the beaten track but was more to do with "Oh my god, you perve! You pushed me in the water on purpose!" Scorpius slapped at the bare skin of Albus' shoulder, his shirt having come off sometime during the night, just as Scorpius can feel the cold bite of Albus' belt buckle pressed none too comfortably against his ankle bone.

"I may have had to escape your general wet vicinity at the time, but if only you knew how fucking hot you looked all dripping wet. And your trousers – god, your trousers just _clung_ to you, and it was pretty much then I decided cock over tits was my future. It was just your cock that mattered, though, even if you never noticed me like that."

If the red tinge to Albus' cheeks was anything to go by – that and the way he nuzzled further into Scorpius' chest – his little reveal was a tad embarrassing. It was nothing like that for Scorpius, who knew what itwas like to pine for someone you thought would never actually see you for what you were, what the two of you could be. He felt something in the dark places of his heart, a flicker of light amongst the shadows that had taken up space there. Even though this, _this_ between them was new and unexpected (though a lot more explainable now he thought about the odd looks and the extra-long touches and hugs Albus had always made so readily available to him), Scorpius allowed himself to be revealed in the tiny spark of _something_ that this night and these words had created in him.

"I see now" was all he said, and it was all Albus needed as he sighed, winding his body more tightly around Scorpius'.

...

"We don't have to go."

Scorpius nodded but said nothing either for or against. He'd had the same argument with himself for the past month and a half and he was still having it now – and that was without help from the man to his left. The same man who was holding his hand, his fingers entangled with Scorpius' own as much as they could be beneath the thick gloves they both wore to stave off the cold. Even heating charms weren't really enough to keep the chill at bay with the strong, icy wind blowing in from the north as they stood outside looking in. Then again, Scorpius always felt the cold, had always _felt_ cold for the past eleven-ish months.

"It's just one party, Scorpius. It's not as if anyone in there will mind overly if you don't show up. I'll say your great-grandmother had another one of her turns and we had to stay by her bedside reading her those erotic limericks again."

Scorpius snorted, a smile lighting his face for the merest of moments before it slipped away at the flicker of shadows amongst the golden lights glowing from the house in front of them.

It'd been a ridiculously happy month for Scorpius. That night on the floor with Albus had turned into something he'd never thought to find with his friend. A friendship that had blossomed into finishing each other's sentences as if they'd been together for years, not days. Touches that were previously normal had now become significant: a press on his shoulder was "come to bed," and a tilt of Albus' messy-haired head in the morning just begged for him to be kissed and pressed into the mattress until they were both sated, sweaty, and late for work. They'd tumbled headlong into this relationship, this newness that felt like oldness – a forever – between them. Everyone they'd opened up to had reacted the opposite of the way they'd both been expecting. There was no shock, no " _R_ _eally? You two?"_ There was only acceptance and "Oh, I always assumed you were together." All supportive, and Albus and Scorpius as a couple fit seamlessly into the background as only they two ever could. A friendship that should never have started – what with so much hate between their two families – had developed over the years to become something more, something that caused neither family or friend to bat an eyelash.

None but the one who would be in that house tonight.

The one who still took up the dark places, whose voice, whose promises unkept occasionally woke Scorpius during the night, when Albus would stroke his hair and face until he fell back to sleep. Albus never questioned why, his gaze held the answers to who haunted Scorpius' dreams.

Scorpius imagined going in, seeing the familiar smiles of red-headed family members whose constant teasing and enveloping hugs made him feel at ease on even the most foul of days. He saw kissed cheeks and comments about being too skinny and "Just what are you two boys living on over there?" He saw introductions to new partners and of course, of course, _he_ would be last. Would it be by the spiked punch that first Bill would add to, then George, and eventually Ron when he got out of Hermione's sight? Would it be under the mistletoe that Rose hung every year in the vain hope that Lysander would eventually be in the same vicinity and be forced to kiss her? Or would it be in the kitchen, helping Molly with the carrots or stirring something bubbling in a pot, that he would conveniently find Scorpius on his own?

Where ever it was, the conversation would be stilted, the blush on Scorpius cheeks unable to be kept from staining his skin. They would stand close, but not enough to cause suspicion. His voice would be soft, timid almost contradicting the strength behind the man. Whose words could and had unravelled Scorpius more often than not back before, before the hurt.

"You and –" he would start.

"Yes," Scorpius would reply, his hand not trembling as it clutched a glass.

"Nice."

"It's new," Scorpius would find himself saying, almost as in defence.

Teddy would step closer, almost into Scorpius' personal space, a shade of heat to his side. "That's good. That's good."

"I could love him. He loves me."

Teddy would smile, but it would flicker with something and that would be enough to give Scorpius hope, but then he'd hear Albus' voice and he'd remember. He'd pull away, focus on Teddy's eyes and not his lips and how they had felt pressed to the arch of his foot, the small of his back, the knob of bone at the top of his spine. He would forget all of that for Albus. Albus who had waited. Albus who had wanted. Albus who would never, ever hurt him like Teddy had.

"Love?"

Albus' voice, filled with a tight concern as if he too were imagining conversations and moments to come, pulled Scorpius back from the hundreds of situations he was contemplating in his head.

Albus always said Scorpius thought too much.

His hand in Scorpius' said so much more than what it looked like. The slight squeeze of his pinky finger was "You all right?" and the answering full acceptance of their fingers together was "Not yet, but getting there."

It was Albus' head on Scorpius' shoulder and the tightening of his grip that meant it was okay, okay for now, and it was more than Scorpius could hope for.

"Let's go in. It's Christmas, after all."

And they did.

 **-the end-**


End file.
